Class Materials/Examples
AVM,
My favorite group! I have enjoyed your memes, virtual tour reports and your viewpoints on the documentary films. I look forward to seeing how you all enjoy watching the foreign film and the film outside of your comfort zone. If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know. Much love and I hope to see you all soon.
-L. Montes
My meme is a play off of Netflix's show Narcos; a dramatic show that chronicles the life of Pablo Escobar. The original meme is a play on us, teachers, waiting for our students to become participants of our Google Classroom. I recreated this meme, but for my AVM students because this is an accurate depiction of how I look waiting for them in a Google Meet and they don't show... (Insert tumbleweed blowing in the wind on a dusty road with the duel music in the background) this is how it feels...
My AVM Peeps,
Great work on your videos and posts. I hope you all are well and I'd love to see you in the Google Meets. You all are missed! Please refer to the lesson plans below for the month of April, if you have any questions, let me now. Stay safe and make good choices!
Hugs,
L. Montes
My AVM Peeps,
You all know that my days have not been the same without you to start them and if you didn't know, now you know. <- Please read that last part in your best Biggie voice; if you have no clue what I'm talking about, we can't be associated. But, seriously, our Kool-Aid Things get my day going, so know that you all are missed and loved beyond the expression of my words. I've posted the lesson plans below. Please make these projects are school appropriate and have fun with them. Express yourself and your style and when you comment on your peer's don't be super judgy, McJudgy. (Be better than your teacher ;) ) I look forward to seeing all of your lovely faces during our Google Meets and if you have any questions, let me know.
How I feel about you guys!
-L. Montes
AnglesMacmorris · SlidesCarnival
Montage & Uniterrupted Shots.pptxmeseThe Weary Blues
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway. . . .
He did a lazy sway. . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—
“Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
And put ma troubles on the shelf.”
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more—
“I got the Weary Blues
And I can’t be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can’t be satisfied—
I ain’t happy no mo’
And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.
Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you.
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
The Negro Speaks of Rivers
I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.